


Gray Area

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: And there is really nothing that i can tag here, Insomnia, No Peterick this time sorry, Oneshot, Pete can't sleep, So he thinks instead, Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7911697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"An invisible note?"</p><p>"Something like that. What we label as defective and out of tune and off-key. But it's just as real and perfect as an E and a G sharp and a B flat and all the rest. A gray area, if you will."</p><p>==========</p><p>Pete can't sleep, so he wakes Patrick up for another midnight ramble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gray Area

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off a conversation I recently had with my best friend. I know the story is quite short, but I thought it might be kind of cool to put in a fanfic form. Hope you like it.

He lies on his back, studying the ceiling through the darkness shrouding the hotel room.

He does not make a sound, he does not move.

He simply thinks. For what feels like hours but is most likely only one at most, he stays like this.

_Thinking._

 

Finally the silence is broken.

"Patrick?" he whispers. There is no reply. The only indication that someone else is in the room is the rise and fall of the sheet on the adjacent bed, and the slow, rhythmic breathing that accompanies it. He tries again.

"Patrick."

The slight exhale, a stirring. But Patrick does not wake. He stretches out a tan, tattooed arm and gently rubs at the lump in the blankets.

_"Patrick."_

This time, a larger disturbance. Patrick turns over to face his friend and blinks sleepily, sea-glass eyes glinting in the shadows. "What is it, Pete?"

"I can't sleep."

"Tell me something new."

The remark stings, just a little, but Pete knows it's true, and besides, he _did_ wake Patrick from a perfectly good sleep. The guy is bound to be somewhat pissed.

"I can."

The ocean eyes gleam a bit brighter and Patrick sits up. "Okay."

Pete straightens, mimicking his best friend's position and drawing his knees up to his chest. "There are whole notes and sharps and flats and whatever, right?"

" _Yes_ , Pete."

"There must be notes in between."

Patrick yawns softly. "What's your point?"

"Those notes, the ones in between. They're nameless, and when we find them, we consider them out of tune or off-key."

Pete can tell he's sparked Patrick's interest. The younger boy can see that this is going somewhere, even if it is just another one of Pete's midnight ramblings. He cocks his head, golden-brown hair sticking straight up in the back and some falling into his eyes. Pete decides to elaborate.

"On a piano, for instance. In between the sound that the C key makes and the sound that the C sharp key makes. Or a D and a D sharp, an A and an A flat, whatever. Something in between the white keys and the black keys. We don't officially recognize it as a musical note, but it exists nonetheless."

Patrick looks captivated, the bleariness of sleep nearly gone from his face.

"An invisible note?"

Pete nods slowly. "Something like that. What we label as defective and out of tune and off-key. But it's just as real and perfect as an E and a G sharp and a B flat and all the rest."

He pauses, picking at the sheets.

"A gray area, if you will. And maybe we're like that, too. People, I mean, not just us in particular. Qualities that people label as disorders and defects and problems. Too hyper, too quiet, too sad, too anything. They're just parts of us and maybe they aren't such bad things. We don't have to call ourselves defective."

Patrick falls back onto the mattress, looking thoughtful. "I like that idea."

Pete smiles, though he knows Patrick can't see it in the darkness.

The two lie awake in silence for a long while, contemplating Pete's _Rambling of the Night_.

"Good night, 'Trick. Sorry for waking you up. I just wanted to tell someone before it went away," Pete murmured, his whiskey eyes already drifting shut.

Patrick smiles, though he knows Pete can't see it in the darkness.

"S'okay, man. I don't mind. Good night."

"'Night," Pete sighs, barely audible, and in the next instant his breathing is slow and heavy.

 

Patrick lies on his back, studying the ceiling through the darkness shrouding the hotel room.

He does not make a sound, he does not move.

He simply thinks. For what feels like hours but is most likely only one at most, he stays like this.

_Thinking._


End file.
